num custos sororis mei sum
by WinterSky101
Summary: Athelstan knew it was his fault. He knew he had told Ragnar of the town, that he had told him of its riches, that he had sent a group of deadly Northmen to its gates. He knew survivors would be few. That was the town where his sister lived. Compliant with 1.03 (Dispossessed) and 1.04 (Trial).


**So it wasn't until very recently (that is, after I started this fic) that I found out that, according to a deleted scene from Vikings, Athelstan's entire family was dead. Oops. So I guess this is a slight alternate universe where his sister survived, although the rest of his family is still dead. Sorry about that. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!**

**Title is Latin for "Am I my sister's keeper?" because I'm cliché like that.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Vikings. Any dialogue you recognize is directly from the show.**

* * *

Athelstan knew it was his fault.

He couldn't remember exactly what had happened, nor recall exactly what he had said to Ragnar when he was drunk. But he knew enough. He knew he had told Ragnar of the town, that he had told him of its riches, that he had sent a group of deadly Northmen to its gates. He knew survivors would be few.

That was the town where his sister lived.

The guilt was crippling. Athelstan knew he had to watch the children - Lagertha's threat still rang in his ears - but it took everything in him not to curl up in a corner somewhere with his gospels and forget everything else in favor of praying. Perhaps, if he prayed enough, God would forgive him and save his sister. Perhaps. Any chance was better than none.

"Priest?" Athelstan's head jerked up immediately, his eyes meeting Gyda's.

"Yes, Gyda?" he asked, bending down to look the young girl in the eyes.

"Shall I help you to cook?" Gyda asked, meeting Athelstan's gaze. "I often help my mother. I can help you as well."

"Thank you," Athelstan replied, a small weight lifted. He had never been asked to cook before; he had no idea how to make the dishes that Lagertha made look so easy. Gyda settled in to help, and when Bjorn came inside a few minutes later, Athelstan and Gyda were working side by side.

"Priest!" Bjorn called. Athelstan's spine stiffened slightly. He doubted that Bjorn would beat him, but he had hit him in the past, especially when Ragnar and Lagertha weren't there to keep him in line. And it wouldn't be illegal or even truly frowned upon for him to do so.

"What is it, Bjorn?" Athelstan asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. Bjorn's eyes narrowed.

"What are you doing with my sister?"

"We are cooking, Bjorn," Gyda answered, glaring at her brother. "Leave the priest alone."

"Why should I?" Bjorn demanded. "He is a slave. Why is he of any worth to you?"

"Leave him be!" Gyda demanded angrily. Athelstan merely continued to cook the meal, not looking at either of the siblings. He disliked fighting, especially over him. But he knew that getting involved and trying to stop Gyda and Bjorn would only worsen things, so he kept his mouth shut and cooked. Gyda and Bjorn continued their argument, and while Athelstan tried to pay attention, his mind kept wandering. He wondered where Ragnar and his men were, how long it would be until they reached the town, whether or not they would kill his sister. The last thought occupied most of his time, as Bjorn and Gyda finished arguing and went off, leaving Athelstan to make the dinner alone.

The food wasn't bad, although it wasn't as good as Lagertha's. Athelstan blessed it before he ate, but the children began as soon as he placed the food in front of them. Athelstan added a silent plea for the Lord to save the children's souls.

Athelstan only was able to eat a few mouthfuls before he pushed the bowl away, his stomach roiling. His sister's fate haunted him, not allowing him to eat. Gyda and Bjorn continued eating, ignoring him as they talked. Athelstan toyed with the cross around his neck, praying silently.

Later that night, when Gyda and Bjorn were in bed, Athelstan opened his gospel and tried to read it. But the words swam before him as his eyes filled with tears. Bile rose in his throat, and he was only barely able to get outside before it clawed its way out, splattering on the ground with the remains of the food he had eaten that night. Athelstan put a hand out to the door to support himself, breathing slowly. He closed his eyes and sent up another silent prayer. Then he returned inside, put away his gospels, and curled up on his cot to sleep.

He didn't sleep at all that night.

* * *

The next day passed without incident. Bjorn threatened Athelstan a few times, but that was to be expected. Gyda helped him cook again, and the food was better than it had been the night before. Again, Athelstan ate very little before he gave the food up in favor of praying.

"Priest?" Gyda asked him quietly as he pushed his bowl away, barely touched. "Is something wrong with the food?"

"No, Gyda," Athelstan replied kindly. "I simply am not very hungry." Bjorn scoffed, but when Athelstan turned to him, he said nothing, only eating his food. Athelstan sensed there was more to it, but it did not matter, so long as Bjorn wasn't reckless and didn't do anything dangerous. Athelstan couldn't control him anyway; he knew that. He tried his hardest to do what Lagertha and Ragnar had told him to do, but Bjorn was a stubborn young man. He would not listen to a slave.

That night, Athelstan was able to keep the small amount of food down. He was also able to sleep, exhausted from two days of being awake, with much of the time being used to work. The sleep did not come kindly.

Athelstan dreamed. He dreamed he saw the town, with Northmen surrounding it. He dreamed he saw the Northmen invading, entering every house and killing everyone there. He dreamed he saw them entering the house where his sister lived, and it was Ragnar's brother Rollo that he dreamed killing his sister. He dreamed that Rollo took off her arms, as he had destroyed the crucifix at the monastery. He dreamed that his sister screamed, that Rollo did not stop, that-

"Priest?" Athelstan jerked upright at the sound of Gyda's voice. He must have looked wild, for her eyes went wide.

"Is something wrong, Gyda?" Athelstan asked hoarsely. Gyda shook her head.

"I just wanted to see if you were alright," she replied shyly. "You were tossing and turning, and your breathing sounded so ragged. Are you alright, priest?"

"It was just a dream," Athelstan replied, forcing a slight smile for Gyda. "Nothing more. Thank you for your concern, but you're supposed to be in bed."

Gyda nodded. "I'm glad you're alright," she told him softly before going to bed. Athelstan almost broke, almost cried, almost vomited as he had the night before, because if there was one thing he definitely wasn't, it was alright.

* * *

Meals got better and better. The situation with Bjorn's behavior, however, did not. One night, he entered the room and slammed an animal head on the table. Athelstan forced himself not to jump.

"I want to go to Kattegat," Bjorn demanded. "I want to see my father return soon. He _must_ return soon."

"I gave your father my word I would look after you both here," Athelstan replied, forcing himself to be calm.

"You are not looking after us," Bjorn cried in indignation. "We look after ourselves!"

"I could not allow you to go on your own to Kattegat," Athelstan replied firmly, hoping it would be the end of it. "Your father would never tolerate such a thing."

"Then we should go together," Bjorn suggested. "The three of us." He clearly thought he had won. Athelstan didn't doubt he would be angry with the continuing rejection.

"And who will then look after the farm?" Athelstan asked. Bjorn had no response to that. The conversation appeared to be over. Athelstan bent his head and interlaced his fingers to pray. "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful," he murmured. He could feel Gyda's curious gaze on him. She was curious about his religion, he knew, but he couldn't imagine her converting. "Amen," Athelstan added, crossing himself. He picked up the jug of ale and poured some for Bjorn first, then himself. Gyda watched him.

"Can I have some ale?" she asked.

"You're too young, Gyda, to drink ale," Athelstan responded, slightly amused at the request. He was less amused when Bjorn passed his cup of ale to Gyda, who took a sip before setting it down.

"I want to make a sacrifice to Thor," Bjorn declared. "For my father's safe return." Athelstan badly concealed a sigh. Would Bjorn ever cease being difficult?

"What will you sacrifice?" Athelstan asked trying to be accommodating. Bjorn got to his feet.

"You," he snapped. He knocked over his bowl and stomped off. Athelstan couldn't keep the shock from his face. Gyda leaned over to him confidentially.

"He doesn't mean it," she whispered. "Father would be furious."

It was only slightly reassuring.

If nothing else, dinner was good for getting Athelstan's mind off his sister. Once dinner was over and the children in bed, however, Athelstan's mind was free to wander to the fates that could have befallen her. Seeking comfort, he took a small candle and used it to look at his precious gospels. He stopped at one page, with a beautiful picture, and began to pray.

"Where are You, Lord?" Athelstan asked. "Tell me, is it Your will that I'm here with these heathens? How does it serve You? I don't understand." Athelstan paused, thoughts of his sister's potential fate in his mind. "And for the first time in my life," he added slowly, not quite believing what he was going to say, "I'm angry with You." Once that was out, Athelstan couldn't stop himself. "You allow my brothers to be slaughtered and sold. Is this really Your will?" Athelstan paused again. "And for the first time," he added, "I feel lonely." Athelstan paused again. His mind was not on his prayers, it was with his sister. "Where are You, Lord?" Athelstan whispered. "Where are You? And why don't You answer me?"

Almost immediately, there came the noise of wings flapping. Athelstan stood, picking up the candle, only half daring to hope for some sort of sign. He looked up to the rafters.

"It's just an owl," he whispered to himself. It had been too good to be true. Athelstan waited for a moment, then walked to Bjorn's bed. He shook him lightly. "Bjorn. Bjorn, wake up."

Bjorn huffed. "What is it?" he groaned.

"We'll go to Kattegat," Athelstan promised. "All of us. Tomorrow."

Bjorn's face didn't show much, but Athelstan thought he was pleased. Anyway, if Athelstan had continued in forbidding it, he was fairly certain that Bjorn would have left on his own. This way, at least Athelstan could keep an eye on him.

And, if he were either very lucky or very unlucky (he wasn't sure which), perhaps his sister would be on one of the coming ships and he could see her. If not, at least he could ask Ragnar or one of the others about her more quickly. The sooner he found out his sister's fate, no matter what it was, the sooner Athelstan would be able to breathe.

* * *

"You were supposed to take care of the children and the farm," Lagertha told Athelstan in Kattegat, after Ragnar's trial was over. "I see you have the children, but where is the farm?"

Athelstan was prepared for the worst. He could still remember Lagertha's threat. "Bjorn was determined to be in Kattegat when you and Ragnar returned," he replied. "If I hadn't come with him, he would have snuck off by himself."

"I know," Lagertha replied, a hint of a smile on her face. Perhaps Athelstan wouldn't be brutally murdered. "I am glad you brought the children here, priest. I was glad to have them when Ragnar was arrested. And now that he is free, they can join in the celebrations with us. We took much plunder from the village. You gave a good tip."

Athelstan thought he might vomit. "Did you take any slaves?" he asked in a surprisingly normal voice. Lagertha frowned.

"Why? Do you think we will get rid of you for another slave? Ragnar has grown fond of you, as has Gyda. We all have, truly. You need not worry about that, priest."

"Please tell me," Athelstan begged, terror clawing at his chest. Now that he was so close to finding out what happened to his sister, he wasn't sure he still wanted to know. "Did you take any young women as slaves?"

Lagertha's frown deepened. "We took one," she replied. "She was around twenty-five, I would guess." Athelstan's sister would be much younger than that; he had left her fifteen years ago, when his parents had sent him off to the monastery, and she had only been one.

"And did you kill any of the women in the town?" Athelstan demanded.

"We do not kill the women unless they fight us," Ragnar replied, coming up from behind Athelstan and making him jump. "We did not kill any young women, as far as I know. We left most of the people in the town."

"Thank God," Athelstan whispered, clutching his cross. Ragnar frowned.

"Did your wife live in that village?" he asked curiously. Athelstan shot him a dark look.

"I have no wife. I am a monk. The woman I was worried for is my sister."

"Oh," Ragnar replied, a look of understanding dawning on his face. "And that is why you did not want me going there."

"You got me drunk and tricked me into telling you about that town!" Athelstan snapped. "Is it any wonder I did not want you going there to slaughter innocents?"

"Have care how you speak," Ragnar replied angrily. Athelstan knew the smart thing would be to apologize and shrink back, but he couldn't do it. His anger was too fresh. "You are just a slave, priest. Remember that."

"How could I forget?" Athelstan demanded. "At least now I no longer have that damned rope around my neck, but I am still constantly reminded that I am only a slave to you."

"What do you expect?" Ragnar replied coldly. "You must learn your place."

"Leave the priest be, Ragnar," Lagertha murmured. "He has just found out that his sister is still alive after worrying the entire time we were gone. Leave him alone."

"Lagertha-"

"Leave him alone," Lagertha repeated firmly. Ragnar grumbled, but he did as his wife said.

"Priest?" Lagertha asked softly. Athelstan realized he was trembling and quite possibly crying. He didn't reach up to check.

"Is the priest alright?" a new voice asked. Gyda. Athelstan leaned against the wall behind him. Was this what true relief was like? He barely even heard Lagertha's response; Athelstan's only thought was that his sister was alright. A moment later, Athelstan felt a thin arm wrap around his shoulders.

"It's alright, priest," Gyda whispered. Athelstan used her grip as a lifeline, pulling him back to reality. Yes, his sister was alive. He could be thankful later. For now, he had to ground himself again so he could rejoin the others, as he would undoubtedly be told to do within a few minutes.

"Gyda?" Lagertha said quietly. "Could you leave us for a moment, please?" Gyda looked from Athelstan to Lagertha before getting up. "Thank you." As Gyda left, Lagertha crouched in front of Athelstan.

"Thank you," he whispered, still trying to get his emotions under control. Lagertha had a mere suggestion of a sympathetic smile on her face.

"I had a little brother," she told Athelstan quietly. "He was much younger than me. I always worried about him when I left to fight. I have felt the relief that you feel. Ragnar does not understand. He and Rollo are so close in age. The two received their arm rings almost at the same time, and they have almost always gone on raids together. But I was six years older than my brother, so I understand."

"What happened to him?" Athelstan asked, wiping his eyes. Lagertha sighed.

"I was right to worry about him. When I was seventeen, I left to fight with my father. He was only eleven. He had not yet received his arm ring. But our town was attacked by a rival earl. My brother was killed."

"I'm sorry," Athelstan whispered, offering a quick, silent prayer for Lagertha's brother's soul.

"You are lucky to have you sister still alive," Lagertha told Athelstan softly. "She is living in freedom."

"She is luckier than I," Athelstan murmured. Lagertha's lips twitched into a smile.

"You are alive," she offered. Athelstan almost argued that it would be better to be dead than to be in this pagan land, but he bit back the comment.

"We must go back inside, priest," Lagertha stated, standing gracefully. Athelstan clambered to his feet, wiping his eyes again. He ran his hand through his hair, feeling the fuzz of new growth on his tonsure. He would have to shave that soon.

Lagertha reentered the building. Athelstan paused in the doorway. "Thank You, Lord," he whispered. "Thank You for saving my sister."

Athelstan stepped through the door.


End file.
